The home coming of the heiress of Hawkhurst was far different from that which her father had once lovingly planned for her when looking forward to her emancipation from school. There was no sign of festivity about the estate, no gathering of tenants to a feast, no dancing on the lawn, no floral arches, no music, no gladness of welcome. The carriage containing Neva Wynde and Mrs. Artress, and attended by liveried servants, turned quietly into the lodge gates, halted a moment while Neva spoke to the lodge keepers, whom she well remembered, and then slowly ascended the long shaded drive toward the house. Neva looked around her with kindling eyes. The fair green lawn with its patches of sunshine and shade, the close lying park with the shy deer browsing near the invisible wire fence that separated the park from the lawn, the odors of the flower gardens, all these were inexpressibly sweet to her after her years of absence from her home. “Home again!” she murmured softly. “Although those who made it the dearest spot in all the world to me are gone, yet still it is home. No place has charms for me like this.” The carriage swept up under the high-pointed arch of the lime trees, and drew up in the porch, where the ladies alighted. Artress led the way into the house, and Neva followed with a springing step and a wildly beating heart. The great baronial hall was not brightened with flowers or green boughs. The oaken floor, black as ebony, was polished like jet. The black, wainscoted walls, hung with ancient pictures, glittering shields, a few fowling pieces, a stag’s head with antlers, an ancient boar’s head, and other treasures, was wide, cool and hospitable. No servants were gathered here, although Neva looked for them and was disappointed in not seeing them. Most of the servants had been at Hawkhurst for many years, and Neva regarded them as old friends. It had been the wish of the butler and housekeeper to marshal their subordinates in the great hall to welcome their young mistress, but Lady Wynde, hearing of their design, had peremptorily forbidden it, with the remark that until she came of age, Miss Wynde would not be mistress of Hawkhurst. And therefore no alternative had remained for the butler and housekeeper but to smother their indignation and submit to Lady Wynde’s decree. Mrs. Artress flung open the door of the drawing-room with an excessive politeness and said: “Be kind enough to enter, Miss Wynde, and make yourself comfortable while I inform Lady Wynde of your arrival.” “I am not a guest in my own home, and I decline to be treated as one,” said Neva quietly. “I presume my rooms are ready, and I will go up to them immediately.” “I am not positive,” said Artress hesitatingly, “as to the rooms Lady Wynde has ordered to be made ready for your use. I will ring and see.” “Thank you, but I won’t put you to the trouble. I shall resume possession of my old rooms, whatever rooms may have been made ready,” said Neva half haughtily.